


Redefined

by SilvorMoon



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fluff, M/M, Post-Canon, Shopping, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-06-27 07:13:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19785859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilvorMoon/pseuds/SilvorMoon
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale are acquiring material objects. Crowley doesn't quite get why his angel is so excited about finding an old dictionary, but perhaps he can learn to appreciate having the right word for the right moment.





	Redefined

If you’d asked Crowley or Aziraphale, either one would have told you that they had very little in common. They had completely different tastes in clothes, for example. Or take their taste in music: Aziraphale preferred the classics, while Crowley enjoyed being more up to date. Aziraphale, with his orderly mind, was good with computers; Crowley, who had never done well with rules, had never figured them out. Crowley enjoyed cars and other things that went fast; Aziraphale mistrusted any conveyance that wasn’t his own two feet. Nevertheless, when they got together, they had to find something to do that both of them would enjoy, and so bit by bit they had discovered common ground. 

Take this junk sale, for instance. It had been billed as some sort of extravaganza, but a junk sale was what it was: a massive barn surrounded by an even more massive collection of tents, all of them stuffed with antiques, vintage clothes, and yes, junk. When you had been around as long as the angel and the demon had - i.e., virtually forever - you had time to develop an awful lot of nostalgia. They liked the chance to be around things that had originated in earlier days, times and places the two of them remembered even if no one else alive on Earth did. Even if the two of them returned home at the end of the day with armloads of entirely different junk, they would still have a good time amassing their respective collections. 

Anyway, Crowley thought, as he watched Aziraphale across the aisle, the angel was at his best when he let his acquisitive side show through. He wasn’t trying to do the angelic thing and take the moral high ground; he was very methodically, self-indulgently, and unashamedly enjoying the good things the world had to offer. Those were the times he really lit up, so brightly that Crowley sometimes had to wonder why even the silly mortals didn’t notice there was something special about him. Even now, he was pawing through a crate of dusty old books with an expression reminiscent of someone who had just sighted a dull gray rock on the sidewalk and was the only one who recognized it as a diamond. Crowley shouldered his shopping bag and sauntered over to see what had him so excited. 

Aziraphale sighted him, straightened up, and beamed. “Oh, hello again. Did you find something nice?” 

Crowley wordlessly held the bag open, displaying the pair of vintage boots he’d taken a fancy to. Aziraphale looked at them, looked at Crowley, looked more thoughtfully at the footwear, then looked back at Crowley as if mentally editing the boots into their proper locations. He nodded. 

“They suit you,” he said. 

Crowley couldn’t help but grin. The boots had just gone up from “impulse purchase” to “things he was going to wear every day for the foreseeable future.” 

“So what have you turned up?” he asked, as casually as he could. “A mint first edition? Something autographed by the author? Some rare privately printed volume that’s worth millions now?” 

Aziraphale held up a thick book, beaming with pride. “The 1934 edition of G. & C. Merriam Company’s _New International Dictionary._ Second edition.” 

“Wow,” said Crowley flatly. “My goodness. That must have been a real bestseller, back in the day. I’ll bet everyone was talking about.” 

“I’ve always wanted one,” said Aziraphale, either missing the sarcasm or totally ignoring it. “And these people are practically giving it away.” 

“This wasn’t another of your little jokes, was it?” Crowley asked suspiciously. “Like that time you added the extra verses to...” 

“Don’t blame this one on me!” said Aziraphale. “But it is something like that. There’s a word in here that isn’t a word. Someone had been working on a list of abbreviations, and had listed a capital or lowercase letter D as an abbreviation for ‘density’. Someone found the card that read ‘D or d: density’ and thought it was a definition for a word - ‘Dord’ - that meant ‘density’.” 

“Huh,” said Crowley. Sometimes it truly baffled him, the things Aziraphale found interesting. “So why didn’t you buy a copy in 1934, then?” 

“Oh, well, you know, there was the slump on around then, and money was a bit tight, and then the war came along, and what with one thing and another...” 

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” said Crowley. “So you found an exciting book. Good for you.” 

Aziraphale smiled down at his new treasure and tenderly stroked the cover, as though it were a pet. “I always had a soft spot for dictionaries. They contain everything, in a way. Every book that has ever been written or ever will be written is made out of the words you find right here.” 

“I reckon we’ve invented a few more words since 1934,” Crowley observed. Under his breath, he murmured, “I wonder if they’ve got one for me.” 

He hadn’t meant it to be audible, but Aziraphale had good hearing. 

“Beg pardon?” he asked. 

“Well, I do kind of defy definition,” Crowley said, rather defensively. “I mean to say, I’ve been kicked out of Hell, and Heaven won’t have me. Not exactly a demon anymore, not really an angel, and definitely not a human. You can at least call yourself a fallen angel, even if you only fell halfway. I’m not sure what you’d call someone like me who’s been up and down like a blasted yo-yo.” 

Aziraphale looked faintly amused. “Perhaps you’re an aardvark.” 

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Oh, don’t bring that up again! I’m being serious.” 

“Well, then, let me see.” Aziraphale opened the dictionary and began leafing rapidly through it. “A... B... C... D... ah, here we are.” 

The angel tapped a word on the page, and Crowley leaned over him to try to get a better look. 

“Eudemonic,” Aziraphale read aloud. “Adjective. Related to or conducive to happiness. From the Greek ‘eu’ meaning ‘good’ and ‘daimon’ meaning ‘spirit’. That’s you: a eudemon.” 

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “A happy demon?” 

“A demon who makes people happy, perhaps.” 

“I do not make people happy!” Crowley blustered. “Just because I happen to be working freelance at the moment instead of taking orders from down below doesn’t mean...” 

“You make me happy,” said Aziraphale simply. 

Crowley stopped as if someone had pushed the pause button on his personal universe. He stared at Aziraphale. 

“Gimme the damn book,” he said at last. 

“Why?” Aziraphale asked, but he obediently held it out. Crowley snatched it from him. 

“Because I’m buying it for you, that’s why. As a present.” 

“Oh, but you don’t have to...” Aziraphale began, then stopped. His expression softened. “Thank you, Crowley, that’s very gentlemanly of you.” 

“Well, ‘s like you said,” Crowley mumbled, turning in search of someone he could give his money to. “It doesn’t cost much. And I might like to look through it myself later. You know, improve my mind. Stuff like that.” 

“You’re more than welcome to borrow it,” said Aziraphale, looking amused. “But I think I’m going to browse a bit more. I’ve only been through the first two boxes, and I think I saw some old natural histories over there.” 

“Sure, knock yourself out,” said Crowley. “I’m going to check out some of the tents outside after this.” 

“I’ll catch up to you by the snack tents,” Aziraphale promised. He brightened. “We can split a funnel cake!” 

“I’m not splitting a funnel cake with anybody!” Crowley protested, envisioning powdered sugar coating his black clothes. 

“All right,” said Aziraphale equably. “I’ll buy us each our own, then.” 

Crowley opened his mouth, realized that it wasn’t worth fighting about, and closed it again. 

“Right, then,” he said. “Funnel cake it is, then.” 

He paid for the book and started back outside. Just before he left the barn, he looked back over his shoulder at Aziraphale. He was still happily pottering among the books, smiling down at whatever he was finding in those dusty cardboard boxes. Crowley allowed himself a small, gentle smile. 

“You make me happy too,” he said.


End file.
